


Fail!Wolf Derek & the flirting

by darain39



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shameless bad fluff that should carry a warning, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:41:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1284805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darain39/pseuds/darain39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can Derek flirt? Should he even bother? WHY IS THIS HIS LIFE? He was trying to be nice for gods sake! Do they have to talk about it? This is Stiles so yes they HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fail!Wolf Derek & the flirting

**Author's Note:**

> I like it when Derek fucks up ok?

For just a moment after Derek said it, he wished he could have sucked the air back into his lungs, physically able to pull his words away with a sharp inhalation of breath. Anything to avoid where this conversation would be going in about five seconds. As it was, for a few agonising moments there was nothing but dead silence.

In a flat panic his eyes found Stiles' mouth, which had stuttered open with his best goldfish imitation, moving on to rapidly exhaling squeaky little breaths past his lips, his eyes wide, incredulous. A few more silent moments passed before he seemed to regain control of his breathing and was able to eek out:

“I don't know if I heard you clearly big guy but I'm gonna take the wild leap here and assume that what I heard was something along the lines of “you think my moles are _what exactly?_ ”

Derek thunked his head down on the table.

Hard.

He was hoping it would crack open his skull long enough for some of his brain matter to leak out. That would possibly be enough to gross Stiles the fuck out, effectively distracting him from his current train of thought. It might mean he started to puke _thus_ deflecting attention away from Derek's uncharacteristic word vomit,well uncharacteristic at least when it came to this Hale and his ability to string words into pretty much coherent sentences altogether.

He didn’t dare lift his head higher than a couple of inches above the wooden surface before slamming it down again. Born wolf and all he wasn't one to argue that normally super werewolf healing was great, just ask his the places on his body that benefited. Places like his abdomen which was gouged and gored on a regular basis. Great. Cool. Awesome! Thank you werewolf genetics.

Right now it just seemed fucking annoying.

He'd been solidly bashing his head in for about two minutes now and didn't even have the beginnings of a headache yet. There definitely wasn't a visible patch of blood or stray brain matter to validate the force with which he was pounding down on the table. This was going to be more difficult than he anticipated. He started to bash downwards a little harder when Stiles spoke up again.

“Derek. I have no goddamn idea what is going on here. I'm all for you being able to express your, I dunno, mental breakdown and subsequent head bashing, which rock on by the way,ACDC would be super proud of the _spectacular_ head banging moves, but I kinda think we need to clear up something here.”

Derek stopped mid thump, chancing a quick look at the surface of the table he'd been trying to evacuate his brain matter on.

Not even a fucking dent. _God dammit!_ He raised his head and huffed out an aggrieved sigh.

“Look Stiles it was nothing, really. I was thinking about something else entirely when you came in here.” He said through a mouth of clenched teeth, biting hard on his tongue to keep it from flapping any further. There was a twinge of pain somewhere in the muscles keeping his mouth closed. He sighed again, a rather defeated sound, before continuing.

“Scratch that, you _stormed_ in yelling about how a certain 'douchy former Godzilla complex-ed individual with more muscles than brains' had been telling everyone you looked like you'd been hit by a ball of crap through a sieve, which is Jackon's colorful way in referring to the amount of moles on your face. Not to mention you were screeching all this in that particularly unholy way that always manages to sets most people's teeth on edge. _I couldn't even fucking hear myself think!_ I had a moment of crazy okay? Must've blurted out the first thing that popped into my head just to see if it would shut you up. Lydia's a real life banshee Stiles and even _she_ doesn't have the ability to melt werewolf brains as well as you do! _Jesus Christ on a cross_!”

And welcome back to the word vomit! Derek took a deep breath. Stiles being around here so much was clearly a bad habit for Derek. Their tentative friendship, oddly comforting as it had become to the werewolf would have to end.

Soon. Today. Right now.

Before he had no choice but to answer the legitimate question as to why exactly he'd said the words “cute” and “moles” anywhere near their newest banshee-in-training.

He opened his mouth to simply tell him to get the fuck out, when Stiles leaned over he table and pushed a firm finger to Derek's parted lips, effectively silencing him with no more than a single digit and a raised eyebrow. They were definitely rubbing off on each other if Stiles thought his eyebrow game was strong enough to intimidate Derek.

Derek sucked in his breath sharply to start again, but somehow Stiles was right. The warm digit pressing against his mouth was more than sufficient to cut off the flow of words.

“Me thinks thou doth protest too much, wolfie And although it’s horribly endearing, I just want to make sure I comprehend 100 % of what the hell is going on here.”

Derek pinched his lips into a tight line, Stiles fingertip still pressed up against them. Apparently the head cracking wasn’t going to work and he fleetingly considered changing tactics to holding his breath until his lungs burst, preventing him from getting any deeper into this conversation.

Seriously, fuck his life. Hard. _Without_ lube.

Stiles must have picked up on the sudden panic that was flitting behind Derek’s eyes, his face softening and a small, knowing smile forming in the corners of his mouth. Of course Stiles could read him like a book, always so understanding these days when it came to dealing with Derek and his fuckton of emotional baggage. Fucking Stiles! Ah yes Derek realized that was part of the problem wasn’t it? He wanted to _be_ fucking Stiles. That, and so much more!

Like right now, he’d wanted blanket permission to reach out and smooth the little crease that had developed between Stiles' brows as he watched him. Remove any trace of worry from the younger man’s face. He should only be allowed to smile. To Derek, Stiles was most beautiful when he was smiling.

“Okay so maybe we need to approach this from a slightly different angle before you bite through your tongue or something. Right. Here we have the facts. There’s me, the loudmouth mole spotted sometimes annoying, endearing me to you teenager. And then there’s you. The werewolf who thinks my moles are cute. And will you look at that, we've run outta all the facts and it doesn't seem that complicated all of a sudden”

Derek unclenched his jaw a fraction to let out a sigh, clearly exasperated, before rolling his eyes skyward. This was not going well at all. He pushed his chair back from the table to put some distance between them, folding his hands in a bunched shape in front of him, dropping his eyes to focus on anything other than the man looking back at him.

“Stiles, look. You were feeling bad about… _whatever_ you were feeling bad about and contrary to popular belief, I do have _some_ semblance of a heart and I could tell that you were genuinely upset about what Jackson had said. I don’t want _any_ member of the pack to feel like that. That's why I said what I did. Can we just leave it at that?”

He could feel the shift in Stiles’ emotions as he finished speaking. His eyes squinted and a hard edge appeared in his jawline this time.

“ _Oh_. Oh great. Yes, thank you. I see. Well as part of the _“collective pack”_ , let me be the first to thank you being generous enough to take the time to make sure I _feel_ better. Really. It’s awesome.”

And just like that Derek knew he was in deep shit. Stiles had pushed himself from his seat at the table and started moving away with short, sharp gestures, his body pulled tight, defensive, the air thick with the disappointment and fresh hints of anger coming off him in waves. Clearly _that_ had been the wrong thing to say. Why was this always so fucking difficult? Derek cursed for maybe the thousandth time he'd been born with vocal cords at all.

He moved around the table, pushing in a chair closer which Stiles had pushed away in an effort to escape. The older man used the hard backed surface to steady his hands which had begun to reach for Stiles' shoulder. It would just confuse whatever this was between them even further.

“Look Stiles. What the _douchlizzard_ said was just that. Extremely douchy. You get that his rage and insecurity is probably coming from a dark place. A place that has nothing to do with you personally. I don't think you should take anything he says seriously. You've got a lot of great things going for you. Forget Jackson and his issues.” Suddenly Derek realized how much of that could also be applied to him and that this stubborn man in front of him had done nothing of the sort when it came to working around the mountain of issues Derek brought to their tentative friendship. He had not just forgotten about Derek, had not brushed him off, pushed him to one side.

That Derek had lied just now he was immensely glad Stiles couldn't pick up on it. He didn't simply think Stiles had great things about him, if he had to be entirely honest, Stiles was damn near perfect. Not in a superficial, glossy, forget all your faults kinda way. But good. A deep down _genuine_ good person. The kind that Derek could only hope to pretend to be.

Stiles dropped his gaze, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He mumbled something which Derek caught the end of sounding a lot like “ affected by a small penis syndrome douchlizzard” and suddenly the sharp, angry lines faded from his face altogether. It wasn't long until he was able to meet Derek's eyes.

“Ok wolfman. I'm gonna try it your way. That doesn't mean that your mouth did not form the words “cute moles” while you were looking me dead in the face. Merely that I'm going to wait for you to do something so incredibly stupid out on the battlefield, which come on, considering your track record is bound to be sooner than later, an when you're bleeding out, flat on your back, I’m going to make you tell me with your dying breath just how much you like my “cute moles”

Before Derek could protest, Stiles had crept around the table and stood facing him, less than an arms length separating them, the heat of both their bodies mixing. Stiles' eyes were bright with mirth, shining golden with something deeper than just amusement.

“So take a good look mister. I'm expecting sonnets here”

The warm touch of his fingers that gently brushed Derek's cheek were still like a brand long after Stiles had left, the air between them simultaneously charged with something steadier and yet more terrifying than it had ever been.

Sonnets huh?

And here Laura had always thought his college degree in English Lit was going to go to waste.

Derek had his work cut out for him but at least the subject matter he had to work with more than made up for it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm http://www.tumblr.com/blog/darain39 where I post and reblog about Hoechie just a tad too much!! Oh and Sterek and Teen Wolf and where fucking fictional werewolves have consumed my life (as evident on my sad ass blog) CHECK IT OUT and come cry with me!!!


End file.
